


Fate Doctor

by Lockedaisical



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Character Development, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Character, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-25 13:48:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13836060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lockedaisical/pseuds/Lockedaisical
Summary: Zatanna Zatara takes drastic measures against the entity that inhabits her father's body. But the world still needs Doctor Fate, and they will get him -- with some adjustments [SI, Season 2]





	1. At the Ready

I open my eyes with a start as something nudges my stomach. 

“C’mon kid. You gotta get up.” 

The unfamiliar voice jolts me further, and I push myself into a sitting position. I blink rapidly, a strange clarity in my head that was unlike any ‘waking up’ sensation I’d felt before. It felt like I had just blinked, and found myself on the ground. 

“Where…” 

There’s a single bright spotlight overhead, the sole source of light. The rest of the environment bleeds into a murky darkness. I can’t even see the edges of the room. 

“...where are we?” 

The elderly man in front of me inclines his head at my question, but hasn’t made any move to answer, standing at ease with both hands resting on a cane. I bite my tongue to keep myself from asking further at the hard edges of his expression. The many laugh lines and wrinkles make the sternness of his features seem uncharacteristic, but all the more serious. 

“We haven’t got a lot of time,” he tells me. He holds out a hand and I take it, surprised at his strength as he lifts me to my feet in one smooth motion. He’s looking away, up towards the light. I try to follow his gaze but have to use my palm to shade my eyes, which makes it a rather worthless effort. 

“I’m going to be asking you for probably the biggest favour you’ll ever have to give in your _life_ , but I hope you’ll go along with it,” he says so casually, I had to run it through my head twice before it the meaning gets through. 

“I’m -- I’m sorry..?” 

“Look sharp. He’s here.” 

And _something_ appears up in the light, first a speck, growing bigger and more recognisable as it descends. It floats down, then stops around eye-level, surrounded by an golden ethereal glow. 

Doctor Fate’s helmet. 

I’m dreaming, aren’t I? Come on, I’m not even that big on the comics, but it’s hard to mistake it for something else with that shape, colour --

“Nabu, we need to talk.”

This is… this is a strange dream to say the least. Nabu, as in the actual ‘Lord of Order’ character. I rarely have this sort of detail, though I suppose that could be chalked up as my memory getting fogged up as I awaken -- 

“ **I dismissed you because I grew tired of your baseless whining.** ”

“Well, you don’t have a choice now. This is important, Nabu, and I hate to say ‘I told you so’, but you really brought this onto yourself.”

I’ve… never lucid dreamed before, never to this extent. I’ve been trying to, doing those dream diary things and memory exercises, but have never succeeded. This is too clear, too direct -- 

“ **Why have I been brought here.** ”

“You’ve been sent to this side of the planes because that Zatara girl finally grew fed up with you puppeteering her father around. I told you it was a bad idea. Now here we are.”

To actually interact with another person and listen to a coherent conversation -- 

(... _this_ side of the planes…)

“ **The order of the world —** “

“Must be restored, yes, yes, I _know_. And now the Earth’s lacking one Lord of Order while Klarion still runs wild. _We need to do something._ ” 

There’s a heavy, meaningful pause as the initial sparks of defiance burn away into a resolute smoulder. The helmet seems to turn its gaze onto me. 

I can feel the weight from eyes that don’t appear to exist, piercing right through my physical body and straight into my soul. 

I don’t think this is a dream. 

“ **And this is your solution.** ” 

The man turns to me as the pieces click into place. There’s a brief moment as he closes his eyes, as if pained, before he pins me with his gaze. Contrary to the tones he used while speaking to Nabu, he’s now gentle, as if breaking bad news. 

“My name is --”

“Kent Nelson.” I cut him off. I bring up a hand towards my head, a gesture of habit more than anything, as I don’t feel the headache I expect to have. “I know.”

“...I’m sorry to say, but since you’re here with us now... that means that you’re...”

“Dead.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I know.”

* * *

“ **What is your plan**.” / “What’s your plan?” 

We speak at the same time and there's a moment where we make eye contact -- if that was possible with a disembodied helmet -- before I turn back to Mister Nelson. “Sir.”

He’s gazing out into the darkness, which now that I look closer, truly is an empty _nothing_. We’re standing in the middle of a void, and though we’re clearly in the light, I can’t help but shiver. 

“The ritual Zatanna Zatara used on Doctor Fate was to absolutely and cataclysmicly remove the spirit of Nabu from the living plane. Which is why we’re all here together, on this side.” Mister Nelson gestures out into the expanse of darkness. He inclines his head, as if listening. “We’re not supposed to be here like this. They’re going to find us soon.” 

I can guess easily who he means, and I don’t want to ask further. He’s not finished explaining, so I hold myself from saying anything, even as I feel Nabu’s impatience emanating in ripples. 

“Nabu, even the most powerful sorcerer can’t overturn something like that. What I can do, is send you back with someone else. Cut together pieces to make a whole.” 

“...you want me to be a host.” I manage to say quietly. Mister Nelson looks away from addressing the helmet, turning to me with an odd look on his face. 

“ **You choose a random being -- a deceased being -- and assume it is an adequate host**?” Nabu demands. 

“I had to work with what I could get, but I did try to get someone with the highest mystic potential available. We don’t have the luxury of being picky.” 

“ **You _know_ that Klarion’s level of power --** ”

“Better for it to be you rather than some new Lord to have a chance of defeating him -- !” 

I lose track of the conversation as their discussion grows more heated. 

Damn it, I…

Who _hasn’t_ fantasized about something like this before? Getting thrown into a world of fantasy? Escaping the mundane world into the exciting lives that could only be found in fiction. 

(I’m too young to die, only 19, how could I have died, I’m so scared, why did this happen) 

I’d _dreamed_ about this, because I’d never thought it was possible. It was something you yearned for because you _couldn’t_ have it.

How could this possibly be _real_? 

“Look. We’re dead. _Dead_. All three of us are. I’m just trying my best not to bring down the rest of the world with us.” The severeness of his voice brings me back to the present. 

“I don’t… understand.” 

Mister Nelson sighs softly. “I plucked your soul and brought you here right after you died so that we could -- “

“No, I -- this… I’m _dead_ , I can accept that -- “ the gravity of that truth somehow settles as I say it out loud, a strange finality that is almost calming. “-- but _you_ \-- you’re not _**real.**_ ” 

“What do you mean?”

“I -- I… don’t think that this is my afterlife? This doesn’t seem _right_. I don’t understand how this is happening, this shouldn’t be possible -- ”

He’s taking me seriously. I see the the cogs in his mind whirr, searching for the right reasoning. “...how did you know my name?” 

“I read about you in a book that someone wrote. It was a _fictional_ story, someone made it up for fun, it shouldn’t be…” 

Mister Nelson stares at me for a moment before a light seems to spark in his eyes. “Hah!” He lets out a bark of laughter, triumphant. “A being from a higher plane of existence! Nabu, you can’t get more mystical than that!”

* * *

“ **I will speak with him.** ”

Some of the hardness returns to Mister Nelson’s expression. “I’m serious about the ‘we don’t have much time’ thing. We need to make a decision, fast -- “

“And I will tell you the verdict. But I must speak with the boy _first_.” 

And Kent Nelson disappears. 

“Is he…?” 

“ **He is fine. I simply did not wish to deal with his interruptions.** ” The helmet gently bobs up and down on an undetectable wave. “ **You are aware of the nature of the deal Kent Nelson is proposing?** ”

“You need a host to act on the… mortal? Plane. After you put on the helmet, only you can take it off again.”

“ **In this case, our souls would be merged. You would don the helmet permanently**.”

Oh. 

That… changes things.

“ **Giovanni Zatara was an unwilling host. That has wrought complications I was not fit to deal with. Now, with the merge being permanent, if you are unwilling --** “ 

A spike of fear through my heart. “ _No_ , I am willing.” The words pour abruptly out of my mouth, but they are true. Real or not real, if I deny this opportunity, I would hate myself forever. “I just have no… desire, to become a mere puppet, watching as you control my body.” 

A pause. The helmet bobs steadily. “ **The fate of the world rests on a Lord of Order keeping the Lords of Chaos at bay. Even fully trained, you do not have the power to undertake that alone.** ”

“I know, I know.” I assure quickly. “We’re not equals. You’re the master. You know what to do the best; say the word and I won’t resist. Just -- can’t we work something out? Surely you don’t fight _all_ the time, right --”

A booming sound interrupts, and I flinch. Mister Nelson’s voice echoes from everywhere at once. “ _You guys better not be taking too long, you hear…_ ” 

“All right, we can discuss that later.” For a helmet, it’s gaze is piercing and intrusive. Okay, only important details… 

“If… if we die…” 

“ **We are bound and will leave the mortal plane together.** ”

I bite my lip. “So you’ll die too? That’s…” not good for Order, is it. “Why are you okay with this? I expected… this seems extreme.” 

“ **I judged wrongly.** ” The admission is frank and to the point. (respectable) “ **The love Zatanna Zatara felt towards her father was more forceful than any destruction of Chaos. There will be repercussions.** ”

I don’t really have a response for that. I grit my teeth as I think…

“ **Do you find this proposal acceptable?** ” 

Final answer? 

“Yes.” 

“ **Why?** ” 

Huh?

(Come one, Lee, get a hold of yourself.) 

Easy answers are available immediately, but I clamp my mouth shut and truly think for a moment. Undoubtedly, I am being judged. Yet, I do not want to… choose an answer that would simply appeal to him. The answer that I would personally, fundamentally agree with… 

“I’ve always wanted… to be given, opportunity. Might be a childish faith, to believe in luck and fate and all that. But I know from experience… hard work and skill doesn’t guarantee success. I suppose this _time_ , if this is what it is, then I’m the lucky one. And this is such an opportunity to do _good_. Justice, righteousness, order, I believe in these things. I have no qualms about… serving you.” I stare deeply into the eye holes of the helmet, trying to connect with Nabu. “ _If_ only -- I have a condition -- _if_ I ask for it, you will listen to what I say. If and when we disagree… I want to talk.” 

_Suicidal_ probably, I have my doubts, but was it worth voicing them right now? Do I have complete faith in myself that I could convince Nabu of my opinions if I disagreed with him? His actions are overall good, overall for the protection of Earth, but how reliable is he? How much do I trust him? 

And yet I _want_ to take the leap. 

“Besides, I’m dead anyways… is the afterlife all that great?” I add on, more of mumbling to myself. Wonder if he can take sarcasm?

“ **We will have… a long time to talk.** ” It’s difficult to pick up Nabu’s tones with the almighty weight of his words, but that almost sounded wistful. “ **The rest of our lives.** ” 

“So it’s decided?” 

“Yes.” 

“ _About time; if we’re going to do it --_ “ Mister Nelson’s voice seems to be carried by the wind as it swirls around us, and his form is reconstructed from spiralling strips, making a whole. “ -- _we need to do it now._ ” 

With Mister Nelson’s reappearance, I become aware that the atmosphere has grown much more oppressive. The chill is no longer passive, but lashes out with sudden cold bursts of wind. The shadows seem to swell and heave, streaks of darkness that look like clawed hands brushing at the edges of the light.

I take a step back, towards the centre, bumping into Mister Nelson. He puts a hand on my shoulder. 

I hear him inhale, expecting him to say something, but it doesn’t come. Slowly, I peer backwards at him, questioning. 

“I am… sorry, for dropping this on you, son. Making it seem like you have no choice.” 

I frown, worried at his wording, as I turn to face him fully. “No, I’m -- “ Breathe, say it properly. “... _thank you_ , for giving me this opportunity.” 

A wry grin twists his face, tugging at wrinkles in a pleasing manner. He looks much better with a smile. 

“Glad you think that way.” 

Mister Nelson lifts his cane slightly, before bringing it down with an _thump_ that rings and echoes out into the abyss. With a flare of light, a golden ankh appears on the ground -- with me standing at the cross in the centre and the Helmet of Fate within the loop on the top end. The glow grows brighter as the winds whip past, magical energy crackling. 

“Now off you go. Good luck.” 

The light grows _blindingly bright as it engulfs everything and then there’s only_ \-- 

Light.


	2. Steady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They come to terms with their position, identity, future.

This time, this time it feels like waking up in the real world.   
  
I’m on my knees, hands braced in front of me and keeping me upright. I blink hard, trying to clear the blurriness of my vision, head still stuffed full of cotton and lacking full awareness.   
  
I reach up and rub my face, knocking my glasses askew. My hands… are shaking.   
  
I feel  _full_. Bloated. Throat feels closed off, choked with something I can’t identify; not exactly a physical nausea, but a sensation of being close to bursting, barely holding it together --   
  
Breathe. It’s not painful, and I can work through the discomfort.  _Breathe_. The sensation doesn’t lesson, but I can push it behind me, and see --  
  
A clattering of metal as it falls to the rough stone floor. A woman with long black hair standing before me, hands to her face and eyes wide.   
  
She’s looking past me.   
  
“...Dad?”   
  
“...Zatanna.”   
  
I don’t think I have the capacity of moving and interrupting the scene in front of me right now. And it’s not like I’d want to.   
  
Zatanna Zatara takes a few hesitant steps forwards, before outright throwing herself at her father. The disparity in their ages from the last comparison I can make is clear. Zatanna was about the same height as her father now.   
  
I can’t see her face, buried in his shoulder, but I can see Zatara’s. His eyes are screwed shut as he basks in the embrace, as if never wanting to let go. The lines in his visage twist deeply, making him look much older than I remember. His immaculate hair is slightly mussed from where his headwear was ripped off and thrown away, but otherwise, his appearance is almost supernaturally well-kept.   
  
I’m already glad I did this.   
  
I bite myself to keep from gasping as a roiling force stirs in my chest, but Zatara notices it and pushes away from his daughter with a small remorseful sound. I’m bent down further, curled to the ground, and I see his feet as he kneels and puts a hand on my back.   
  
“...too much energy, too suddenly…” I hear him mutter, as he gently pulls me upright.  _Ugh_ , that doesn’t feel good… “I need you to stay with me, okay? You’re going to be alright.”   
  
I hear Zatanna’s heels click as she approaches, wanting to assist, but her father stops and turns to look at her. “No Zatanna, stay back.”   
  
She complies, but hesitantly asks, “Dad? Who is this?”   
  
“Nabu explained it to me before we were separated. Kent Nelson managed to find another being to act as a host, merging them permanently so that they could be sent back to this realm.”   
  
“S-sounds about right,” I manage to say for once, forcing the words through my tight throat. My vision is blur -- where are my glasses? -- but I can make out the expression on Zatara’s face. Concern? Compassion.   
  
“Do you know what’s wrong? Does Nabu?” Focus on what Zatara is saying. Answer.   
  
“I don’t… know… where is he … ?”   
  
Where before the sensation was a constant wave, now it  _slams_  hard into me. A door, with a force pressing desperately against it, expanding, leaking through the cracks as the pounding gets frantic --   
  
“Nabu? He’s still here?” Zatanna’s voice is is high with panic, but laced with the steel of  _rage_  --   
  
A flash of golden light.   
  
“ **I am _here_.** ” 

 

* * *

 

 

I watch the events unfold with my eyes, but it plays out like watching a scene through the lens of a camera. Like from a movie, or film. From a window.   
  
Nabu turns my head, slowly, regally as he examines the scene. We are underground, a dark, high-ceilinged cavern lit only by primitive flame torches on the walls. The room itself is man-made, carved stone with antique design, detailed columns supporting the rock overhead. It is an open room, sporting signs of destruction, a recent fight.   
  
Large chunks of rock torn from the walls and ground, statues of marble thrown aside and fragmented. Rows of coffins and biers overturned and crumbled. A tomb? Grave?   
  
On the ground, a large ritualistic circle painted painstakingly across the entire expanse of the room. A ritual which was carried out successfully -- even with my existence being evidence enough, my senses seem to  _open_  as I gaze at the runes painted with an uncomfortably dark red substance. Though rationally, I cannot hope to comprehend the writings, I seem to be experiencing a… sixth sense.   
  
It’s difficult to explain.   
  
“ **Zatanna Zatara.** ” Nabu steps forwards -- with  _my_  body, gold-cloaked and gloved -- just as she steps back. I can  _sense_  the flow of magic in her core, flowing out to her arms, preparing for a fight --   
  
I can’t control my body. I can’t even choose where to  _look_. I can feel what Nabu is planning, how he feels what he is doing is  _right_.   
  
_No, no, no --_  
  
“Nabu.” Giovanni Zatara steps in his way, and I gaze up at him with Nabu’s vision.   
  
Zatara, you have to stop me!   
  
“ **She has attempted to upset the balance by removing Order from the world. Her actions would have caused the destruction of the Earth, had they occurred as she had intended**.”  
  
“You  _took_  my  _Father!_  He was my  _everything_ — “  
  
Zatara holds out a hand to her, cutting her off. She looks incensed, but thankfully logic prevails as she regards him warily.   
  
“And now the balance is restored once again. You are free to combat the evils of this world, and this time, I can even fight beside you. The outcome is favourable.”   
  
“ **She has conspired with the elements of Chaos in order to perform this ritual. She has acted in a way that is sacrilegious and destruc**  — “  
  
“My daughter acted in what was  _just_. She is  _not_  an agent of Chaos.”   
  
Listen to Zatara! Nabu,  _please_ , listen to  _me!_  
  
“ **This does not**  -- “  
  
Nabu,  _do not let this be our first act!_  
  
He’s stopped short.   
  
... _did I get through to him?_  
  
** **We will speak of this later**.** I hear Nabu’s voice within my mental plane, rather than out loud.   
  
Of course.  _Thank you_.   
  
Zatara notices our internal debate, and is bolstered to speak further. “My daughter acted out of her  _love_. And I know you  _think_  it is one of the most chaotic magics of all. But love is the thing that is most  _right_  in this world, the greatest reason for what we do. We’ve had this discussion a hundred times, Nabu, and I  _know_  you’d come to agree with me, at least, sometimes.”   
  
(...could Nabu feel…?)   
  
Through our link, he stays strangely silent, deliberately withholding his thoughts.   
  
With a flap of his cape, Nabu turns away from the pair. Instead, he strides towards something gleaming and golden, inappropriately tossed on the dusty ground.   
  
He bends and picks it up, moving with a smoothness I didn’t know my body could possess. Nabu holds up the Helmet of Fate with his right hand, turning it so the eye holes look back at us. Had we not been wearing it before? Had Nabu been using  _my face_  to speak to the Zataras?   
  
...I’ll worry about that when we get to that bridge.   
  
With a subtle flick of the wrist, he  _wills_  the magic forth, and the Helmet glows with arcane power. The light grows stronger, until only its shape is visible. It then collapses into itself, turning into streaks of gold that coil around us, coalescing at our core.   
  
I feel the weight of the metal against my face. The helmet is properly donned.   
  
“ **The integration of the Helmet of Fate should solve the issues of any magical strain. There should be no problem now.** ” Nabu says, and I see Zatara nod in acknowledgement.   
  
“Very well.” Zatara still stands with his body partially blocking his daughter’s. “Now…”  
  
Nabu interrupts him. “ **Take care of my host.** ” He says quickly, then the garb of Doctor Fate dissolves into motes of white light, unceremoniously dropping me onto the floor. 

 

* * *

 

 

Mister Zatara picks me up to me feet. Again.   
  
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I blurt out quickly. “I feel much better.”   
  
There’s still a slight soreness of joints, still a bit of fogginess in my head, but it was a considerable improvement to the roiling nausea that overcame me before…   
  
Before Nabu possessed me.   
  
(I don’t think the consequences of what I’ve agreed to have fully settled in yet…)   
  
Zatara still looks me over, bodily turning me to check for injuries. I don’t understand the fervour of his concern, but frankly, he’s physically bigger than me so I don’t do anything to stop him.   
  
“...we can go back to my apartment,” she says as her father finally slows down, satisfied.   
  
“Not Shadowcrest?” Zatara asks, and I can sense how disquieted he is as he comes to realise just how much he’s missed.   
  
“Wait, no, you’re right,” she shakes her head to clear it. “Sorry, I haven’t been...”   
  
Her eyes are watching Zatara constantly; everything she moves to do something else she keeps being drawn back. She’s fighting herself, and loses as her face clenches. “I didn’t… expect this to work. I’ve tried  _so many times_  and...”   
  
“Zatanna…” Zatara moves towards her. “My darling....”  
  
“I’m sorry, I, I just -- “ she scrubs at her face, using the sleeves of her sweater to catch any tears. “I’m just so  _relieved_.  _Dad_.”   
  
This feels almost rude for me to be watching. More so considering my… tenant.   
  
I make myself as unobtrusive as possible, quietly leaned against boulder. Speaking of which, Nabu? Are you here? My mind has been unusually silent since his physical disappearance, but I can  _feel_  something, a new presence that I’ve never had before. It hangs around, constant and unyielding. I try to focus on the feeling, ignoring the exchange behind me as much as possible.   
  
Mmmm I get the feeling he’s ignoring me. Don’t really blame him, would appreciate some time to think myself…   
  
There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I open my eyes to see Zatanna. “Ah, should we get going…?”   
  
“There’s really no rush,” she says, but I straighten myself anyways. She speaks slowly, still with a tinge of caution. She smiles at me, but it’s a performer’s mask to assuage and relieve. It’s actually quite amazing how quickly she’s managed to compose herself.   
  
I should state the important first, “I’m not Nabu. I hope that’s, uh, clear. Honestly, I’m not even sure what he’s doing now, he’s not really saying anything -- “  
  
“It’s fine. I think I understand.” I have to keep myself from fidgeting, but she’s not entirely meeting my gaze either. Without the sheer mystic power that shrouded her when she was preparing for a fight, it’s difficult to miss how young she is. She can’t be much older than me. “Your eyes got kind of glowy when he was speaking through you.  _That_  was kind of scary.”   
  
“I’m... sorry?” How do I even respond to that? “But I hope now I’m not too bad?”   
  
That gets me a slightly more genuine grin. “I suppose we’ll see. So what do I call you now?”   
  
“Hm?”   
  
“Your name.”   
  
Oh uh. “It’s Lee, but that’s short for -- “  
  
H-hang on. “...Lee? I’m sorry, I can’t seem to -- to…”  _Why can’t I remember my full name_. Nabu,  _come on_ , talk to me.   
  
A warning rumble, as if intruding on a dangerous creature’s territorial solitude. O _kay_ , I’ll freak out about that later…   
  
Zatanna wears a tiny, minute frown. There is the  _briefest_  moment of hesitation, before she reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. “That’s… probably my fault. It’s okay.” She seems to steel herself. “We’ll work it out. I’m… I don’t think I can repay you, for taking my father’s place.”   
  
“I think you have to wrong idea of what exactly happened.” Not to make this  _awkward_  or anything, but I truly had very little say in the matter. I’m still surprised that... I’m living to see this moment.   
  
(How  _did_  I die?)  
  
“Regardless.” The elder Zatara joins into the conversation, voice amazingly smooth and level even though I know for a fact they were crying together earlier. “You are now here in a position where you were not before. I am now free from my debt.” He shrugs.  
  
“I don’t suppose you have anywhere to return too…?” A mindful question, gentle delivery…   
  
_I can’t seem to remember my goddamned address_. I  _know_  I should be panicking about this, but the emotion seems repressed, and my thoughts are surprisingly collected. This isn’t the time for a breakdown, this isn’t the time for questions. I can deal with it later.   
  
I shake my head, and Zatanna nods to herself. “We can go to Shadowcrest, first.” She speaks with hopeful conviction, newfound optimism overwhelming the exhaustion that lined her earlier.   
  
“We’ll work it out.”  
  
I believe her. 

 

* * *

 

 

Shadowcrest is large and magnificent, an impressive sight to behold.   
  
We’d left the underground chamber behind, coming up into an unidentifiable barren plains. Sand blows into my face with the cold night winds, as Zatanna chants an incantation that… through my sixth sense, seems rusty with disuse.   
  
Metaphorical gates creak open on squeaky hinges, heavy and unkept. Then, through some physics-breaking miracle, space bleeds away to reveal Shadowcrest.   
  
As we step over an invisible threshold, the backdrop changes from a sandy plains to a tree-filled thicket. The light of the moon casts shadows in the clearly uninhabited, abandoned manor, but it is less ‘menacing’, and more… ‘mournful’.   
  
We make the quick trip up the entrance’s many stairs, which don’t seem to correlate in exertion and length. The front doors stand over two metres tall, solid wood. Zatanna lays a hand on it and there is a pulse of magic, her hand the epicentre and a wave rippling out over the building, awakening it.   
  
She sighs, almost wistfully. “Welcome home.” She says so quietly, not meaning for anyone else to overhear.   
  
Then she pushes the great door open. The double doors continue their swing, stopping just before their full arc. Incandescent lights bloom into being, illuminating all the rooms. As we walk in, the doors shut behind us on their own.  
  
Zatanna and her father murmur amongst themselves, discussing. I try not to get in their way, looking around their main hall instead.   
  
The house itself was designed to look like those luxurious western mansions, old and stately. Several of the chairs and tables were the antique kind, with the curved legs and clawed feet. There were allowances in the decoration, filled in with modern devices for convenience’s sake -- light bulbs, digital panels, control switches. Framed magazine covers and newspaper clippings of Giovanni Zatara’s performances hung on the wall.  
  
It looked clean, but unlived in.   
  
There’s a digital clock perched on the side-table by the entrance, softly blinking, with the date displayed underneath.   
  
**30th November**  
**03:14 EDT**  
  
“Is something wrong?” My body is tensed, I may have lingered too long...   
  
“It was… February for me, last I remember.” I look away, rubbing the back of my neck. “Sorry, could I use your bathroom?”   
  
I get pointed in the right direction with just a slight look of concern, and carefully close the door behind me, fiddling with the unfamiliar lock. It clicks shut, and I turn around the face the room, back pressed against solid wood.   
  
It’s fancy, like the rest of the manor, but not exorbitantly so. Disregarding everything else that has happened, I could just pretend that I was using the bathroom at a friend’s house, staying over for the night.   
  
There’s a large square mirror hanging over the sink.   
  
I’m not sure what I expect to see. I put the palms of my hands on the edges of the marble countertop, leaning forwards into the mirror. Still with the same fair face and long-ish straight hair. Still with the glasses and T-shirt and jeans. Same body; long limbs on the outer edge of gangly, been slowly trying to fill them out as I grew older. Tall for an Asian, but average everywhere else.   
  
My eyes are dark brown, but on the very edge of the iris, there is a faint corona of gold.   
  
Okay. Okay.   
  
I didn’t really have a reason to excuse myself apart from this. I’m not sure if this confirmation even benefited anything. The silence is suddenly deafening, so very apparent that it’s  _quiet_  after all that had happened in the past few hours.   
  
I run the tap and wash my face, at least giving me a reason to be here.   
  
Okay. This is happening. You really can’t ignore it any longer, Lee.   
  
When I get back to the hall, I spot Zatanna’s dark hair in the connected sitting room, and present myself at the doorway. She’s seated on the sofa, legs pulled up under her. She rests an arm over her eyes, and I’m worried she’s fallen asleep, but she stirs as I approach and sits upright, turning to face me.   
  
“Dad’s gone to bed. He’s… quite exhausted.” Zatanna looks away as she says that, but it doesn’t quite hide the tightening of the corners of her lips. She turns back to meet my eyes. “Are you tired? We can find a place for you to sleep.”   
  
“No, I’m quite awake, actually.” My body clock tells me that I think it’s still mid-morning, and after what just occurred, I don’t think I’m ready to sleep yet. “Thanks, though…”   
  
She gestures to the sofa across from her. “Might as well join me, then. I have a meeting in just a few hours. Don’t think it’s worth it to risk oversleeping to.”   
  
It’s said in jest, and I do her the courtesy of a small chuckle. She relaxes minutely, though not completely.   
  
“Do you… think you can remember anything more about yourself?”   
  
The thing is, it’s not that I don’t remember -- I  _can_  recall my history, but only in broad strokes and partial images. I was a uni student, studying programming overseas at ( _I can’t remember_ ) in ( _what country?_ ). I enjoyed drawing and reading stories; my favourite book was ( _something about colours_ ). Recently, I was really into a show called --   
  
Thinking about it this way just worked me up. “Honestly, I can probably tell you more about yourself than me.”   
  
“Really?” She leans forward challengingly, grin growing wider. “Try me.”   
  
“Right.” I steeple my fingers, elbows on my knees and fingertips on my lips. I point the triangle my fingers make forwards. “Zatanna Zatara.”   
  
As I think on her name, the details come up with more ease than when I try to think about my own. “Only child of Giovanni Zatara, who’s a stage magician as well as a member of the Justice League.”  _Dates and times and specifics on mystic theory, comparisons of strengths and weaknesses in combat --_ “You’ve taken after his skills and are following in his footsteps.”  
  
I pause, and she notices. A questioning sound. “I um. Think that some of my knowledge is coming from…”  _Nabu_ , but I couldn’t bring myself to say his name around her.   
  
“Go on.”   
  
_Children fighting, young at war_  -- “You’re part of a youth team under the supervision of the Justice League,  _have_  been for several years.”  _A meeting_. “Oh, but you’re getting promoted?”  _Scandalous news, righteous, protective anger_. “You’ve dated… what’s his name, Robin.”   
  
“Nightwing now, and only for a bit.”   
  
“You really like…”  _A wisp, a child’s voice saying ‘These are my favourite!_ ’ “...delphiniums?”   
  
And she  _flinches_.   
  
“I -- I, oh crap, that was probably going too far, it felt like something I shouldn’t have known, sorry -- “  
  
I trail off my babble as she composes her thoughts. “No, it’s  _not_  your fault. That was just… something I’d only ever shared with my father.”  
  
“Oh.” God, the tension in the room just skyrocketed. Her thoughts whir loudly as her mind jumps to the implications. From the tightening of her lips, a negative conclusion. I can follow her train of thought, but… I don’t think it’ll be any good to speculate when we can  _ask_  them in the morning.   
  
There’s something, I really want to ask now, though. And it’s not like the atmosphere can get any worse.   
  
“Can I ask… what was you plan? Because… well, with me here, it seems like I was the wrench that was thrown into it.”   
  
She hesitates, but it’s more of considering how to word something pause. “The ritual was to seal Nabu’s essence in the Astral Plane. It’s supposed to be a one-way trip, so he couldn’t even reform back here.” A wry tilt of the lips. “ _That_  didn’t work.”   
  
“Mmm… But, Kent Nelson -- he sent us back. He said that there had to be a Lord of Order on earth to counter Klarion, gave a whole explanation all ‘doom on the world’ style, actually.”   
  
“ _Did_  he?” There’s a twinkle in her eyes as she imagines the scene.   
  
“Yeah, it’ll probably be funny to think about in the future.”   
  
She puckers her lips as she thinks about what to say next. “Well,  _if_  it had worked on  _him_ , the Justice League would’ve gotten my dad back, a magical fighter. I’m sure altogether we could’ve taken down Klarion the same way, then we wouldn’t have to worry about  _either_  of them -- “  
  
_\-- Sudden and overwhelming and_ ** _bursting open_**  --   
  
“ **You’re a _fool_.** ” Nabu says with my voice, as I’m suddenly thrown back into the window-seat of my mind. The abruptness of the shift leaves me completely disoriented, haphazardly clinging to any senses to stabilize myself.   
  
I see Zatanna’s eyes widen, see her jumping to alertness, see her ready a combat-stance.   
  
Nabu. Nabu you  _can’t_  hurt her.   
  
We hadn’t changed in appearance, still sitting in jeans and T-shirt, but from the way Zatanna looks at me, I can tell my eyes have fully taken on a golden hue. Nabu lifts my posture, sitting ramrod straight, hands in fists on my knees.   
  
“ **You think to control forces with power you can barely imagine, overthrow authorities which keep this world** ** _in Order_** **\--** “   
  
“And yet.” Zatanna speaks in even, tempered tones, outrage controlled by sheer will. “ _I_ took you  _down_.”   
  
“ **You fight with Chaos! It has tainted you!** ” Nabu shoots to his feet, staring her down. “ **And now _you seek to turn my host against me._  I will warn you now,  _there will be consequences_.** ”   
  
“I have no quarrel with Lee.” Her eyes are so incredibly  _hard_ , diamond plates containing a raging storm. “I don’t know why he was dragged into this. As far as I’m concerned, he’s innocent.”   
  
“ **We are now merged. We are now _one_. This boy’s only anchor to this world is  _me_**.” There is malice in my voice that is uncharacteristic, jarring. “ **If you repeat that ritual,** ** _he will die_**.”   
  
Zatanna goes quiet. Nabu turns away.   
  
“ **We are leaving**.”

 

* * *

 

I’m kind of numb.   
  
Nabu pilots my body. With a swirl of golden light, the weight of my clothing changes to the heavy cape of Doctor Fate, helmet rested on my face. He steps off and rises into the air, flying with the aid of magic.   
  
A sensation of roiling emotions, but they seem distant and separate. I curl up into myself, trying to ignore any input as Nabu guides my body to a specific destination.  _Breathe_ , I tell myself, but my mantra doesn’t even work. My breathing is already even without my control, Nabu regulating my body’s functions. I probably should be grateful, but currently it does nothing to help ground me.   
  
A growing glow, a brief lurch as we step into another plane and back again to this one; a long-distance teleport spell.  
  
**30th November**  
**16:47 GMT+8**  
  
****We will talk now.** **  
  
...where are we?  
  
** **There is something I wish to know of you.** ** Nabu hovers high in the air, unmoving as he speaks with me in my mental plane. The ground spreads out far below us, buildings mere specks in the distance. Late afternoon sun baths the city in orange, heat haze causing the view to shimmer slightly. ** **Kent Nelson stated that you were from a higher level of existence. I _must_** **know the differences.** **  
  
** **You are not familiar enough with the Americas to make an accurate comparison.** ** Nabu halts his hover, and the air seems to warp as we zoom to the ground faster than it should be possible. He stops an inch above the road of an empty alleyway, and takes a final, graceful step onto solid ground as his recognisable clothes melt away into light.   
  
** **Hence, we are here**.**  
  
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. I grew up here.   
  
But it’s a place I haven’t returned to in over 5 years. I’m not sure what comparisons you want me to make.   
  
** **It is the place you have lived in the longest**.**  
  
We did… move. A lot. I’ll try.   
  
I feel Nabu shift his consciousness off to the side, allowing me to rise up to the gap and take control. I look down at myself, unassuming in civilian clothing, watching as I clench and unclench my fingers into fists with my own will.  
  
(Thanks, I guess…  
  
** **You are welcome**.**   
  
_Ohrighthesinmyhead—_ )  
  
I start walking at a leisurely, standard pace, no particular destination in mind. We’re on the edge of town -- the tips of the Petronas Twin Towers piercing the sky in the distance. Here, though, still lay the residential homes and condominiums, and the stores that I can see are family owned. They’re… kind of familiar…   
  
And I _remember. Behind the muralled wall was a staircase that led down to a respectably sized sundry shop, concrete floor and walls but well lit and well stocked. We visited it often, as it was closer than the supermarket, and I used to linger along the strings of action figures sealed in colourful packaging, zip-tied along the wire racks at kid height. Rip-off, wrongly-coloured, cheaply made models for sale, but the superhero figures were still something interesting and popular.  
  
_ I pause as the sensation washes over me, like a rush that originated from my chest.  _I can remember_.   
  
** **Explain it to me.** **  
  
First, most obvious difference -- we… didn’t have superheroes. They were just popular characters, in a fictional comic book world.  _Everyone_  knew who Batman and Superman were, but they were fake. Not real people like they are here.   
  
There were movies and shows telling all sorts of stories about them. I… was not a very avid fan, I think. I  _liked_  the concept of superheroes -- who didn’t? Incredible people who could solve the world’s problems. What we would have given to have something like that.   
  
But in the end, they were all just rather… simple. The story of good prevailing over evil was just a salve to help us in our complex, day to day lives.   
  
** **Who protected the people? Who upheld order**?**  
  
The… police I guess? ( _I remember riots, tear gas, unjust arrests_ ) The government, they try their best. ( _I remember blackouts, false ballots, an unfair democracy_ )   
  
My gait slows to a stop. We were coming up to one of the central districts, with more people milling about on foot. We can see more of the city, from here. Older, crumbling buildings juxtaposed against high-rise modern structures built by foreign investors. Graffiti scribbled against any exposed surface, marking territory with garish colours. Layers of flyers over layers of flyers, piling up into an ugly wall of weathered paper against the grates of abandoned storefronts. Posters and flags of propaganda from the election years ago, never bothered to be taken down. Bright red of the parliament overpowering everything else.   
  
My country really isn’t the best example for this.   
  
** **And so, you left.** **   
  
An ethnic Chinese doesn’t have much of a future in Malaysia, where birth is everything.   
  
As I kid I held dreams of working hard, changing things. Things that my parents dreamed of, my grandparents dreamed of. I wanted to learn what I could overseas, then come back. I got a scholarship to Singapore and left.   
  
( _I remember a conversation, eager and naive and painfully young -- ‘I love my country. I’m coming back.’_ )  
  
** **And this… is the ‘higher existence’**.**  
  
We’d wandered further down the row; found an open aired coffee shop in the corner. Plastic chairs and foldable tables spill out onto the street, but are currently deserted apart from a handful of diners, as it was just after the lunch time rush. A large television bracketed to hang near the ceiling, the voice of the newscaster cutting through the empty silence.   
  
I don’t know what Mister Nelson meant by that. Higher doesn’t necessarily mean better, does it? I still don’t entirely understand  _why_  you’ve brought me --   
  
“ -- our condolences to the families of the young men and women lost in -- “  
  
\-- here.   
  
Nabu’s silence is  _poignant_  as my attention is drawn to the news playing on the TV.   
  
** **...I needed to know the differences**.**  
  
18 KILLED IN UNIVERSITY HOSTAGE CRISIS, says the scrolling text.   
  
...what?   
  
A middle-aged man, sitting at one of the tables, holding a newspaper aloft. He flips a page over noisily.   
  
I approach him, almost stumbling, but catch myself on the edge of his table. He jumps at the sound.   
  
“Uncle, can I borrow that?” His glance flickers anxiously, but he holds out the paper. I barely hold myself back from ripping it from his hands.   
  
**BANK ROBBERY GONE WRONG, CASUALTY COUNT RISING** , says the headlines. I rifle through the pages with frantic energy.   
**THOUSANDS DISPLACED AFTER FIGHTING CAUSES LANDSLIDE**  
**CHIEF PUTS DOWN RUMOURS OF ALLEGED SERIAL MURDERS, 6 STILL MISSING**  
**KL POLICE TO ENFORCE CURFEW AFTER DARK**  
**PRIME MINISTER DEFENDS DECISION TO SHOOT TO KILL**  
**$14,000 WORTH OF FIREARMS SEIZED IN RAID. MAIN SUSPECTS STILL AT LARGE**  
  
**CRIME RATE HIGHEST IN 20 YEARS**  
  
“Why…” My throat feels so dry, tongue thick in my mouth. “... is it worse?”  
  
A hand shaking my shoulder. “Boy? Are you okay?”   
  
I throw down the newspaper on the table. “T-thank you. Sorry for the trouble.” I turn on my heel and make my way out as fast as I could without outright running.   
  
_Why is it worse_?  
  
** **It seems like the Lord of Order from your world has done a better job than I**.** The admission is frank and objective, but sits so  _wrongly_  with me. No, no, that’s  _not it_.   
  
_We didn’t have a Lord of Order._  
  
There’s a stunned pause. ** **You must be mistaken**.**  
  
I’ve told you already, when we first met. You were merely characters from a comic book.   
  
** **I had assumed… that the Kent Nelson of your world had simply published the autobiography that he had intended too… There has to have been _some_  manifestation of Order and Chaos, it is impossible to exist without **\-- **  
  
We didn’t have magic.   
  
** ** _What?_** **  
  
Magic only existed in fiction.  _You_  only existed in fiction.   
  
** **That cannot possibly be true. Humanity cannot exist without Chaos. And with Chaos, Order rises up against it in tandem, two halves of a whole.** **  
  
But we didn’t have  _this!_ We didn’t  _need_  a Lord of Order to deal with all this… all of this…  
  
** **It is a Lord of Order’s duty, to keep their Chaos counterpart in check, to maintain the balance and harmony of -- !** **  
  
Well, _we didn’t have any Lords of Chaos either!_  That’s pretty balanced, isn’t it?   
  
** ** _No_ …**** And it’s the  _tone_  he uses that catches me completely off guard.   
  
It’s almost a sheer cry of despair. In a single word, he fits in all the emotion he had been withholding from me this entire time. Pain and fear, layered on so strongly,  ** _I_ can feel it**.   
  
**(I find myself wanting to drop the subject.)**  
  
My country… is not the best. It’s not the worst of the third-world countries, but can’t compare to any of the developed ones. I still think it has been one of my best decisions to leave. But it’s still  _my country_. It’s one of the things you can never change about yourself, your origin.   
  
(I remember the word ‘ _Merdeka_ ’, in my mother tongue, sounding sweet in an accent I miss so dearly. A word that is intertwined so strongly in my heritage, so sincere in its sound that it pierces through the heart of any of my countrymen, ringing clear with celebration and jubilee.   
_Freedom_.)   
  
We’re in the air. I didn’t even notice Nabu taking control. I only realise where we are by the  _quietness_  after Nabu’s voice trails off, save for the sound of wind blowing. I use his sight to look down over my city, in a new light.   
  
** **You must not tell this to anyone.** **   
  
Tell…  _what_? The -- the differences between our worlds? The fact that it’s  _worse_  -- or the fact that you’re meant to be.. Comic book characters? Or why you’re  _afraid_  --   
  
**No**. No, you’re right. If this is what your reaction is like, I don’t really want to reveal it to anyone else either. Nobody… has to know  _why_ …   
  
But… we can do something about it, right? If we now know anything that can help, we have to power to do things, make things better --   
  
We  _have_ to do something.   
  
Nabu says nothing, but he doesn’t need to. What we feel now is only conviction.

 

* * *

 

 

...Can we go back to the Zataras’?   
  
Nabu doesn’t make any sign of acknowledging my request, but I feel his planned course alter slightly nonetheless. He swipes his arm, calling forth a large golden ankh, preparing another teleport back.  
  
**30th November**  
**20:16 EDT**  
  
Coming through this time, I can feel a  _drain_  on my energy. Nothing crippling, but still noticeable as a sudden lack of warmth touches icy fingers on my core. It made sense -- magic, mana, and all that. If anything, I’m surprised that such a long-distance transport didn’t just deplete me completely.   
  
We re-appear hovering above an expanse of forest, no manor in sight. I’m confused for a moment, but Nabu sends out a pulse of magic, knocking on an invisible door. A delay, and suddenly Shadowcrest shimmers into existence below us.   
  
Security measure? Or common courtesy?  
  
** **Both**.**   
  
...Good to know. (That he answers…)  
  
We drop down to ground level. The great entrance doors open and shut automatically as we float in. The magic dissipates off my body, lowering myself to the floor, and with that, Nabu quietly relinquishes his control. The transition is smooth, hardly breaking my step.  
  
“In here,” comes a voice from down the hall.   
  
I follow it, and find a large, high-ceilinged room. Past the countertops and kitchen unit, a section of the space was dedicated to a lounge, with a huge folding door on the outside wall leading into a patio, currently open. Giovanni Zatara stands facing away from me, towards a widescreen television playing the current news.   
  
“Did you know,” Zatara starts, not taking his eyes off the television. It flashes to Zatanna’s smiling visage briefly, as it in turn showcases all the members of the Justice League. “That my daughter is being inducted into the League at this very moment? Apparently, she had considered this morning’s event as a ‘final attempt’ against Nabu, before becoming part of the same organisation.”   
  
He sighs. “Terrible girl.”   
  
He says that is such a long-suffering, affectionate way, though. It’s heartwarming.   
  
I approach him with hesitant steps, ducking my head in respect to speak to the older man. “Sorry, for leaving so suddenly.”   
  
“Zatanna explained what happened.” He turns to face me, an incredibly wry grin on his face. “Don’t worry, I know very well how Nabu can be.”   
  
Goodness, I very nearly wince. He’s… not angry though. Looking closer, there’s no negative reminder from what he had been enduring on his temperament. There’s still a physical exhaustion that hangs around him, but it seems to have been improved after a good night’s sleep.   
  
I know he catches me looking, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he makes his way onto the island counter in the kitchen area. There were plastic bags of groceries waiting to be put away, and Zatara rifles through them, finds a persimmon, goes to the sink to wash it.   
  
“Do you think you can eat? Generally, Nabu’s hosts would be sustained from their connection to the plane of Order.” He pulls a fruit knife from a drawer, cutting it into segments. “So I apologize if I seem to be constantly eating now.”   
  
Oh my god. Is this okay to be talking about?? So soon?? Does that mean he hasn’t eaten in five years? It wasn’t like he could’ve taken the helmet off to eat right?? What about sleeping? Oh god, is he alright??   
  
He’s still waiting for me to answer. “I don’t… feel? Hungry?” But I haven’t eaten in almost 24 hours. Fuck, am  _I_  alright??   
  
Zatara puts the cut fruit on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards me. “Have some,” he offers, having already taken a segment for himself.   
  
“...thank you. Um, sir.” Hasn’t told me what to call him yet.   
  
“Giovanni is fine.” Ah, but, elder…?   
  
(Right, western culture.)  
  
“Thank you… Giovanni.” And he knows I’m not talking about the fruit.   
  
He comes around to the other side of the counter, taking a seat on the high chair beside me. Places an arm on my back.   
  
“Nabu is…” A pause, searching for words. “Charming. In his own way.” I have to temper my expression of disbelief to not come off as too rude. Seeing my skepticism, he waves it off and explains further. “He… tries his best, to do what is right. He is not purposefully evil, or cruel, even if he does have… an  _obsession_  with justice.   
  
“But still, an acquired taste.” He tries to smile a bit, but it’s too solemn. The point between his brow creases, and he closes his eyes for a moment.  
  
“I was fully prepared to bear this burden so my daughter didn’t have to,” Giovanni begins, looking right at me. “And here you come along, paying the price for me instead.   
  
“The hero ins me finds this unfair.”   
  
“I don’t mind,” I say quietly. “I really don’t. Considering the alternative...”   
  
(Do I tell him?)  
  
I meet his eyes, trying to keep my tone level. “I was  _dead_. That’s kind of how Mister Nelson… found my soul. That’s why he could patch us together, send us back. I don’t really hold any dreams of going back to my old home — if it’s even here. But still, I’m  _grateful_ , I really am. To.. to  _live_.”   
  
He’s quiet for a good, long while, and I look down at my clasped hands, not really expecting a prompt response. I wouldn’t know how to reply either.   
  
“...how old are you?”   
  
“Nineteen. Turning twenty in... April.”   
  
I can sense the comparison his mind makes as he considers my age. I can  _feel_  his resignation as he bows his head.   
  
“Lee…” I look up to meet his eyes. There’s a hesitation to it. “Is it alright if I speak with Nabu?”   
  
I’m not really the person to be asked in that tone -- but the being in question rises in answer, and while not forceful like before, my control is shunted to the back of mind. I’m more put off than anything, but Nabu seems like the person who’s used to doing things his way.   
  
...this is how he has been spending most of the time, anyway. Watching, unable to do anything. I don’t want to feel guilty about being in control -- it’s  _my_ body. But I want to try to understand things from his point of view as well.   
  
I watch, as if through a window, as Nabu blinks, before resting his gaze on his former host. Giovanni straightens, but there’s a callousness to his posture in the way he leans on the counter.   
  
“I’d never expected that we’d get the chance to speak like this.” A gesture with his hand, back and forth. “Face-to-face.”   
  
“ **...Neither did I. You were meant to be the only one.** ”   
  
“She still hates you for it.”   
  
“ **She has reason to.** ”   
  
A sigh, forlorn. Giovanni almost looks like he wants to throw his hands up. He laces his fingers together instead.  
  
“...I don’t expect things to be easy.”   
  
Nabu doesn't respond in any way, stoically watching.   
  
“Take care of him, Nabu.”   
  
I feel his grip on my body loosen, as if letting go, but Giovanni makes a motion and we both stop in our tracks. But as soon as Giovanni speaks, he cuts himself off, then looks pensive.   
  
“Is Lee aware when you are in control like this?”   
  
“ **Both of us are constantly connected. We… _work together_ , like this.**” The word rolls out strangely, as if it was odd for him to even consider that. “ **If we had conflicting goals, it could become very complicated.** ”   
  
“So you are equals.” Giovanni nods to himself.   
  
“ **...Yes**.” Nabu sounds like he’s bitten into a lemon, and Giovanni snorts.   
  
There’s a sensation of  _grumbling_ at that reaction, and when Nabu relinquishes his control, it almost feels like a  _petty_  kind of retreat. I almost laugh as a confused reflex, but bite myself to hold it in.   
  
“You’re very.. candid, with him,” I say around my stinging tongue. I’m not entirely sure if that’s the right word, but Giovanni turns to make eye contact, crows feet crinkling with his small smile.   
  
“Nabu and I are friends too.”   
  
Five years does seem like a very long time.   
  
And then I yawn.   
  
(So I  _can_  feel tired...   
  
** **...limits to this body…** ** Nabu says, in that grumbling tone.)  
  
I cover my mouth with both hands, rubbing at my face, and when I look back, Giovanni wears an almost fond smile. I couldn’t help the way my eyes lingered on it. Huh.   
  
“Get some rest. Zatanna has arranged for us to talk to Batman tomorrow.” He pats me twice on the back, pushing off to stand with a grunt. I move to follow him, falling in step slightly behind.  
  
He brings me over to an empty guest room, with a clean and made bed. The entire house was very well-maintained even being out of use for years, and I can only assume that it was done mystically.   
  
Giovanni leans against the doorframe.   
  
“I was hoping… we would be happy for you to live with us,” he says. He tries to be gentle in the delivery, but the request is surprising enough that I spin around to face him, eyes wide.   
  
“Zatanna is okay with that?” I can think of situations which would be  _highly uncomfortable_ , but Giovanni shakes his head.   
  
“She has agreed.” He straightens, hands clasped, so that his next words could be said in assurance, no doubt in their certainty.   
  
“I want to train you. There is probably no one else as suited for this than me.” I’m struck by his shocking blue eyes, genuine in their compassion. “Mystically, you’re already very strong, for Nabu to use as a host. But with training, you can be strong in your own right as well.”   
  
It’s a logical procession, one that I’d hoped for, if the Zatara’s didn’t feel too hardly. But I’m touched by the clear investment he already has, as if  _he’d_  lose out if I disagreed. “You’re too kind,” I force out, stumbling through my words. “You’re really -- gosh, this is… Thank you, for caring,” I finish kind of lamely. He chuckles.   
  
“There is also the team -- you know of them?” I nod slowly. “They are young people, around your age. Hopefully we are able to convince Batman to let you meet them as well.  
  
“I think Nabu would enjoy it there too, actually.” Giovanni excuses himself with a motion, turning away. “After all, there is no greater justice than the justice of the young.”   
  
He starts to walk away, but what he says is thrown around my mind in a whirlwind. He’s speaking of how children are always see the truth, that Bible verse, but the way he phrased it —   
  
Young… justice.   
  
That’s something I know, isn’t it?

 

* * *

  

When I was about ten or eleven, I found out about something called the [Method of Loci ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Method_of_loci)on the Internet, a technique used to improve your memory, and I thought it was super cool and would enhance my mind and become some sort of genius prodigy (I was a little shit). Later on I realised that I’d never reach the extent I’d originally intended, as I stopped caring about being too intelligent (because that made me a little shit). I’d already established a kind of memory palace though, and used it to help me remember things I really didn’t want to forget.   
  
It took the form of the terrace house we had in KL, a single coloured block amongst a row of featureless terraces that stretched towards infinity. The outside gate rolls away as we approach, letting us into the tiled driveway. Malaysian front doors usually consisted of an outer, padlocked grill, and a regular locked door behind it. Both unlock seamlessly, opening by some unseen force.   
  
Inside this house, I arranged many, many mementos from events I cherished, so that the memories associated with them wouldn’t be forgotten. It may just be in my mental plane, but I’d spent ages going over the actual item, familiarising myself with details, that by the time I could recreate it in my mind palace, it was easy to recognise the feelings and thoughts I was thinking at the time of the event.   
  
Inside, this house lay barren.  
  
Not completely -- there were still handfuls of items exactly where I had left them, grounded by their deep impressions. But where before was an organized clutter, arranged in a way only I understood, now a good majority of the furnishings were missing, giving the house an almost sterile feel. Chunks of wall and floor seemed to be removed outright, leaving an empty space that only led to void.   
  
As I navigated through the rooms I  _know_  I’d been in hundreds of times before (but can’t seem to remember), Nabu accompanies me in the form of the floating, glowing Helmet of Fate.   
  
“I think that I used to know your future,” I tell him, walking through the main hall. It seems much larger when there is no furniture in the way.   
  
(Piano to the left -- there was a story to how we got it…   
Certificates, framed above it -- my own achievements, I was trained.)   
  
“And in the same way, I know a bit of your past.” Because there were some things I knew, that I couldn’t explain either Nabu or Giovanni or Mister Kent knowing. About the team.   
  
We walk to the centre of the living room, dodging around a hole in the floor. I turn to face him, grimacing. “What you did to Mister Zatara…”   
  
(On the shelf, my Pokemon cards -- my brother drew and made some himself because the rare ones were expensive)   
  
“ **I do not deny that what I had done was extreme**.”   
  
“A lot of people were angry at you… Still angry at you.” I rub my toe on a scratch in the wooden floor (by colour pencils -- sister did that). “It’s going to be difficult to earn their trust again.   
  
“And we  _have_ to. We have to work with the other heroes.” I press my gaze upon him. His body language here seems almost human, as much as a helmet could be. The blaze of the eye-holes were practically defiant, and I question the wisdom of challenging him to a stare-off, but he  _finally_ relents and turns away.   
  
“. **..I know**.”   
  
Front hall leads into dining area, then kitchen. Nothing… important here. There was a section of spices with colourful labels, which I used to help me memories compatible and incompatible ingredients. Mostly trivial details, which for some reason were left intact.   
  
I backtrack to the hall, where there was a dog-leg staircase leading to the second floor. I brush my fingers along the vertical bars supporting the staircases’ railings as I walk along under it.  
  
“ **I had never done something as absolute as that before. It has also left… me, changed.** ”   
  
“Is that why you’re okay with this?” I don’t really look at him, eyes up and trailing the plaster filigree that decorated the ceiling. I’m surprised by their detail (I used to lie down and nap here, staring up at the ceiling for ages.). “...Okay with me?”  
  
A thoughtful pause.   
  
“ **You are a sufficient host. Once you are trained… once we are at our peak…**  “ He trails off, but it’s obvious where he was going.   
  
“I don’t mind sharing our body if you dont. But can I ask something…” That  _really_  needs to be said. “Please don’t… suddenly take control. It’s very disorienting.”   
  
“ **When I am in control, it is perfectly within your abilities to wrest it away, and make my command very difficult** ,” he admits, to my shock. “ **I do not fathom why you are too timid to do so**.”   
  
I turn and stare at him for several moments. That first time, when he wanted to try and kill Zatanna, was it actually my will that stopped him?   
  
But he’s right, apart from that time, I barely fought back when he tried to use my body, going along with it instead.   
  
“I’m honestly not… a very confrontational person, I dont think.” A bout of nervous chuckles twist my lips.   
  
“ **That is a lie. You are capable of standing tall when you need to**.”   
  
“I mean… If I have to?” I run a hand through my hair, mindful of his intense gaze. “Then I’ll do my best.”  
  
“ **And as you said, there is something we must do now**.”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
I rub my hands on the ornament on the bottom end of the staircase railing. It curved into an interesting round shape, smooth from the years of hands touching it.   
  
“Upstairs is where I keep the… important things,” I tell Nabu, not really sure if he was interested. He still follows me steadily.   
  
The right-most room: my parents’ and baby sister’s room. I don’t think… she wasn’t very young anymore, before this happened. But this house was associated with my childhood, when she had just been born. And looking inside --   
  
(Pillows under the table, I liked to squeeze under there and read -- )  
  
(I drew her something for her birthday, she  _loved_  it so much --)  
  
(A photo of us, all five of us, together and happy and whole and oh so long ago -- )   
  
\-- my memories of  _family_ , though their faces are still blurred, the  **feelings**  I’d kept painstakingly where still there.   
  
Back to the corridor, to the left-side: my room at the end of the hall, brother’s room to the left.   
  
My brother’s room kept my hobbies and interests, since he was the one who introduced me to most of them.   
  
Covering the walls are sheets of paper, splashed with colour. (My technique, workflow, ingrained in memory.) Countless little sketches on display, of things I had studied enough to draw (Anatomy, structure, composition). My art.   
  
Oh I see -- skills, I’d kept my skills.  
  
The other side of the room, closer to the window -- which showed only a blank white light, almost harshly so-- was unfortunately more affected. A desk was set up against the wall, a PS2 hooked up to a small CRT positioned at an angle. The shelf where we kept our games had one end eaten away, leaving the board hanging off the other end and the disc cases scattered on the ground. Their covers were mostly blank, wiped clean.   
  
I walk around the clutter towards the bookcase. Here, several of the books still held their detailed covers, but when I flipped through them, chunks of text were missing.   
  
At least it proved one thing.   
  
I pick up an action figure of Marvel’s Vulture (it was a Christmas gift.) fiddling with his wings. “Not everything I’ve read is gone. If I can remember this guy, there might be things I remember of this world.”   
  
Not really sure why I’m saying it aloud. Nabu watches me silently as I adjust Vulture’s feet, leaving him standing on the shelf as we walk out of the room.   
  
My bedroom stored my…  
  
My --   
  
A burst of panic, and I rush to the door and fling it open --   
  
There’s nothing.   
  
The floor drops away, as if the entire room was ripped from the house, leaving only a nebulous void. It fizzled and cracked, like static, but the feeling of  _emptiness_  was incredibly profound.  
  
“What do you think… caused this?” My voice is surprisingly steady, detached.   
  
“ **An obvious answer. You had died**.”   
  
“And that… made me forget?”   
  
The glow in his eye holes dim, then brighten, as if blinking. “ **I do not blame you. Death is… traumatic. That you do not possess your memories in their entirety simply proves you to be a sane man**.”   
  
(How does he know?)   
  
I close the door gently, hand held on the knob for a few chaste moments and it sinks in.   
  
Back to the corridor. One final room.   
  
This last room room was thankfully untouched, probably because it didn’t hold much in the first place.   
  
It originally led to a small rooftop garden, with walls of frosted glass. The previous owner, however, paved it over to make it into another bedroom on the second floor. He renovated it to have a sunroof of coloured glass. Before, we only used it for storage or the occasional guest room, which I thought was a waste, because the sun shining through the glass truly was quite pretty.   
  
Here, I used it to hang photographs, of loved ones I had lost.   
  
Right now, there was only one, in an elegant wooden frame. A beloved mentor who was stabbed in a robbery. I was young enough that I only experienced this once before.   
  
I need… to add to this, as soon as possible. We still weren’t completely sure if my hazy memories would improve as time progressed, or if I would lose them entirely. If I put down whatever I could remember now, I could always add to it if I remembered more later, but if there was  _one thing_  I couldn’t  _bear_  to forget —   
  
“ **We should meditate on what you can recall of this world. It would be good to do that as soon as possible.** ”   
  
“Can I…” my voice wavers as I think about my friends, my  _loved ones_ , whom I had left behind. “Can I do this first?”   
  
The silence stretches out, and I turn to face Nabu, nervous. Mm we probably  _should_ do the other thing first, it was more relevant, after all…   
  
But in the end I didn’t have to worry.   
  
“Of course,” Nabu says. “Take as long as you need.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> haaa I blame that one really popular (really good) Young Justice SI for inspiring me into doing this, though I’m sure I’m not alone in that. A bit of a problem is that I’m very not familiar with with comic book lore, only the TV series, so I appreciate any fun suggestions!


End file.
